Just Breathe
by Deana
Summary: Aramis, recovering from an injury to his lungs, goes with the others on an 'easy' mission...but it unexpectedly turns out to be the hottest day in years and he really should've stayed at the garrison...especially when danger strikes that he isn't physically able to handle.
1. Too Hot

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Just Breathe  
A Musketeer story by Deana

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Aramis had never felt so hot.

Actually, that may or may not have been true. What made this day different was not only that the heat was unbearable, but he was struggling to breathe, thanks to a fall he'd taken the week before that had bruised both of his lungs. Every breath hurt, especially on the left side, which had taken the most damage. He'd already drank almost all of the water in his canteen and was trying to ration what remained, but Aramis _really_ wanted to drink the rest. Doing that would mean that he'd need to ask his friends to share theirs with him later and he didn't want to do that, so he simply tried to breathe carefully.

Porthos wiped sweat from his brow and drank from his own canteen as they rode. The day had dawned showery and cool, so they hadn't expected the sun to soon be beating down on them with a vengeance. The air was thick with humidity, and he kept looking at Aramis, wishing that his friend had remained at the garrison.

Athos had the same thought; it felt like the sun was trying to bake them. It was getting hard for _himself_ to deal with it, so he knew it would be near impossible for someone who was already having trouble breathing. If he'd had the slightest idea that the weather was going to turn out this way, he would've forced their still-recovering friend to stay home.

"You all right, Aramis?" he heard Porthos ask. Athos turned to look at him, finding that Aramis had fallen behind. His face looked flushed, and with his hat pulled down, it couldn't have been due to sunburn.

"Fine," Aramis answered, even as his head throbbed with pain from the stifling heat and blazing sun.

It was an obvious lie, and Athos sighed. There were no nearby trees to offer any shade, or he'd stop to give him a rest.

The reason for their ride was an errand for the king: dropping off a sizable payment for repairs done to one of the palace kitchens which had recently caught fire. It was something that only the three of them were entrusted to do—with the amount of money involved—and it seemed an easy mission for Aramis, who was bored and begging to get back on light duty, at least. But then the weather had taken them by surprise, and Aramis was suffering.

"Why don't you ride double with me," Porthos suggested. "Then you can rest."

Aramis shook his aching head; it made him dizzy. "I can make it."

"Drink your water," Athos said, halting his horse so Aramis would catch up.

"I am," Aramis told him.

"Right now," Athos commanded.

Aramis stopped his horse beside him and obeyed, opening his canteen and taking a drink. The feel of the water sliding down his dry throat was heavenly, and before he knew it, he'd drank it all. Aramis lowered the empty canteen, breathing heavily to catch his breath, wincing and stiffening in the saddle from the pain that laced through his lungs.

Porthos reached over and took hold of his arm.

Aramis tried to blink away more painful dizziness, feeling a rush of faintness sweep over him.

Athos shoved his own canteen into Aramis' hands before looking at Porthos. "We need to find a river," he said.

Porthos nodded, still gripping their friend's arm. He took Athos' canteen off Aramis' lap and shook it to see how much was inside, before handing it back. It was half full, as was his own. "You'd better tell us ahead of time if you plan to faint."

Aramis gave a short, breathless laugh. "I'll never _plan_ to do that."

"Don't talk," Porthos said. "From now on, it's 'yes' or 'no'. Get it?"

Aramis didn't blame him at all for being worried; it was _not_ good for someone with lung trouble to be stuck in stifling heat. "Got it."

"Good." Porthos took the reins of Aramis' horse and they started moving again.

Not having to direct the horse made things easier for Aramis, but the temperature climbed even higher, and he eventually realized that he'd drank all of Athos' water. He blinked dumbly at the empty canteen, feeling woozy and unable to remember finishing it all.

"Aramis?"

Still blinking, Aramis looked at his friends, who were watching him worriedly. "There's...no more," he mumbled.

Porthos looked at Athos. "He needs to get out of the sun, _now_."

Athos sighed. Aramis was breathing much too fast and was obviously in pain. They'd been heading towards trees that stood in the distance, but they were still quite a ways off. He rode his horse closer to Aramis and reached over, taking the empty canteen out of his hand and handing it to Porthos.

Porthos handed his own canteen to Athos, who put it into Aramis' hands. "Don't drink it all too fast," he said. "Aramis? Do you understand?"

Aramis looked at him, his eyes glassy, breathing as if he'd been running. He nodded, wincing from the pain in his lungs.

Athos turned to look at the distant trees. He was sure that there was water there, but he didn't know if Aramis would be able to make it. "I'll go on ahead," he said. He swung down off his horse, feeling dizzy himself for a few seconds, before taking off the saddlebag containing the king's gold and motioning for Porthos to dismount.

Porthos did, quickly mounting Aramis' horse behind him.

Athos put the saddlebag on Porthos' horse before taking the two empty canteens and remounting. "I'll fill these and head back towards you."

Porthos nodded, watching as Athos took off at a gallop. He then reached his arms around Aramis so he could grip the reins. "Just relax, Aramis, you'll be all right."

Aramis leaned back against his friend, still breathing too fast; shallow breaths that weren't getting enough oxygen into his bloodstream. He winced when his back made contact, making Porthos remember what had happened the previous week…

 _The three musketeers rushed through the streets of Paris, chasing after a man who'd killed a merchant in the marketplace. The man was fast and they lost sight of him, so all three of them split up._

 _Aramis ran around the side of a building, just in time to see the murderer climbing onto some barrels and scrambling onto a roof. Aramis quickly followed, chasing him from rooftop to rooftop. "Stop or I'll shoot!" he exclaimed._

 _The man ignored him and kept running, leaping off the roof onto a shorter one._

 _Aramis lifted his pistol and fired, hitting the man in his left arm. The killer fell, and Aramis continued to run before the killer had a chance to get up and take off again._

 _In a move that Aramis wasn't expecting, the man threw the purse of coins that he'd stolen from the merchant, and it landed right in front of Aramis, who slipped on them and dropped off the roof. He landed hard on his back and the breath was violently knocked out of him. He laid there gasping like a fish out of water as Athos and Porthos—who'd seen them on the rooftops—hurried over and knelt beside him._

 _Porthos had been terrified, watching his closest friend fighting to breathe. They'd gotten him back to the garrison and sent for a doctor, who'd announced that Aramis' lungs were bruised. No one was very surprised; most of Aramis' back was purple and blue. It was a miracle that he hadn't broken anything, and Porthos knew that if Aramis had shot the man before they'd jumped down to the shorter roof, he would've fallen from a much higher height and been killed…_

Aramis suddenly gave a breathless cough.

"You all right?" Porthos asked, coming back to the present.

"Surviving," Aramis mumbled.

"Hey, what did I tell you before?" Porthos scolded. "I said 'yes' or 'no' answers, remember?"

"Sorry."

"Hey!" Porthos said again. "Quiet."

Aramis chuckled, before coughing again. He hissed in a painful breath, trying not to groan.

"See?" said Porthos. "No talking."

"Porthos?" said Aramis, as if he hadn't heard him. Whatever he was going to say was cut off when he coughed again, and his head lolled off Porthos' shoulder as he went completely limp.

"Aramis!" he exclaimed, stopping the horse and jostling him.

Aramis woke right up and shifted his head back to where it had been. "What?" he mumbled.

"You just passed out," Porthos said.

"I did?"

"Yes," Porthos told him.

"Sorry." Aramis coughed again, and just like before, went limp.

Seeing the odd pattern terrified Porthos, and he jostled Aramis again, who woke groggily.

"Aramis, don't cough," Porthos said.

"What?" Aramis mumbled again.

"You pass out when you cough," Porthos told him. "It just happened twice. Stop scaring me, all right?"

Aramis was surprised. "I did? Twice?"

"Yes, now shut up, already, and just keep breathin'!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis fell silent, trying to think through his throbbing headache. He felt like the sun was baking him. His lungs were hurting badly and his breathing was too fast but very shallow...obviously when he coughed, his brain couldn't handle the lack of air, making him black out. Even as he came to that conclusion, his breath caught and he coughed again, before feeling Porthos' hands drop the reins to clasp his arms and shake him.

"Don't you dare, Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis closed his eyes against a dizzy spell, gasping in a painful breath as he forced himself to remain conscious. "Mmm…fine," he mumbled.

Porthos sighed, letting go of his friend with one hand to wipe his arm across his own sweaty forehead. The sun was cooking them alive...he couldn't imagine the effect that it would have on someone who was already having trouble breathing. He took off his hat and started fanning Aramis' face with it, hoping that it would provide him some relief as they continued on…

TBC


	2. Water!

Porthos continued to fan Aramis with his hat as they rode. He wished he could kick his horse into a gallop, but he didn't, knowing that it would hurt Aramis' bruised lungs and make his breathing even worse.

Aramis suddenly made a sound almost like a cough, and it was obvious that he was trying to suppress it.

Porthos put his hat back on and grabbed the canteen that was sitting on his friend's lap, stretching his arms further around Aramis to open it. "Here," he said, holding it to his lips.

Aramis lifted a hand to it, aware that Porthos wouldn't be able to tell how far to tip it back. Once again, the water was heavenly, and when Porthos pulled it away, Aramis almost whined.

Porthos put the cap back on. "Sorry," he said to his friend. "This is all that's left; can't let you drink it all yet."

Aramis tiredly nodded, eyes closed as his head rested back against Porthos' shoulder.

They rode quietly for a while while Porthos continued to fan his friend with his hat. It seemed to take forever, but finally, they reached the trees and shade. The air was still stifling, but at least there were areas where the sun wasn't beating down on them.

Aramis' harsh breathing was the only thing that Porthos could focus on as he tried to decide if they should stop there and wait for Athos, or continue on to meet up with him.

The horse suddenly stepped on a rock that rolled away under its hoof, making it stumble. Neither musketeer expected it and Aramis slipped a little sideways before Porthos could tighten his grip. The breath caught in Aramis' lungs and he coughed again, harder this time. He promptly passed out, and Porthos' mind was made up. Just as he was about to carefully dismount with his friend, a man stepped out of the woods.

"Good day, gentlemen," he said, pointing his gun. "Get down, please."

Porthos was surprised at the sudden turn of events. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The man smiled. "My name is Jacques and I want your horse! Now get down."

Aramis stirred, and Porthos gripped him tighter. "Can't you see that I have an injured man here?" he said.

"Get down and don't touch any weapons, or you'll have _two_ injured men," said Jacques. He stepped aside to reveal Athos tied to a nearby tree with two other men pointing guns at him.

Athos looked very annoyed. His clothes were also wet in spots.

 _Well, at least it looks like he found the river,_ Porthos thought. "Aramis?" he said, jiggling him a little.

"Mmm," Aramis replied. He sat forward so Porthos could get down first, and Porthos did, throwing glances at the men to try to see if there was anything they could do to get out of this situation. If he shot Jacques, one—or both—of the other two would shoot Athos, so with a sigh, he gave up and reached up to help Aramis down from the horse.

Any kind of exertion was making Aramis breathe even faster, and it was obvious that the long exposure to the scorching sun had weakened him, so as he slowly swung his leg around the horse and stepped down, Porthos grabbed him under the arms and held him upright when Aramis wobbled unsteadily.

Dizziness flooded Aramis' senses and his breathing increased even more; it was painful and he fought not to cough. He was surprised when unfamiliar hands roughly grabbed him a moment later and took away his weapons.

Porthos growled when they laid their hands on his friend. His weapons were taken too, and Porthos looked again at Jacques, who had taken the others' place aiming his gun at Athos.

"You will _not_ get away with this," Athos said.

Jacques laughed. "Oh, yes I will." He reached down and grabbed more coiled rope, tossing it to the others.

One of the men caught it, before he and his friend roughly pulled Aramis out of Porthos' grasp.

"Hey!" Porthos shouted.

"Take one step and I shoot this one in the head right _now_ ," said Jacques, holding the gun against Athos' temple.

Porthos had no choice but to helplessly watch as the men roughly pushed Aramis to the ground, smacking his bruised back against the tree.

Aramis sucked in a breath and couldn't stop himself from coughing. His head drooped forward, the sunlight highlighting his hair with a chestnut hue.

"Wait!" said Porthos, holding up his hands to look less threatening. "Put him in the shade, the sun is too much for him!"

"Do you think we care?" said Jacques. He called to his men. "Tie him _especially_ tight!" He looked at Porthos and laughed.

Porthos fisted his hands. "I'm gonna _kill_ you," he ground out, teeth clenched.

"Somehow, I doubt that," said Jacques. He gestured to another tree. "Sit down."

One of the men shoved him, and Porthos turned to see the other one crouched beside Aramis, pistol pointed against his chest.

Aramis was slowly lifting his head, awake once more. He blinked at the pistol that was digging into his sternum.

Having no choice, Porthos sat against another tree and let the man tie him to it.

"Now, was that so hard?" Jacques said. He walked away from Athos and over to Porthos' horse before quickly mounting. He looked at the three musketeers, said, "Good day!" and rode off, with his two men following on their own steeds.

Of all horses, they'd taken the one containing the king's gold.

Porthos started struggling with his ropes. "Aramis?" he called. "You all right?"

The ropes around Aramis were constricting his breathing even more, the tree digging into his bruised back. Rather than lie and say 'fine' or make them worry by saying 'no', he shot him a look as if to say, 'what do _you_ think?' before lowering his face to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"How is he?" Athos asked Porthos, as he struggled to get his ropes loose too.

Porthos sighed. "Not good; he passes out every time he coughs."

Athos didn't expect to hear that. He looked at Aramis, who made his own weak attempt to get loose. "Keep still," he called to him.

Aramis obeyed.

Both Athos and Porthos fought to get loose from their ropes. Porthos had clenched his hands to make his muscles expand so the ropes wouldn't be too tight, but they'd been looped around his wrists so many times that it was taking him forever to get them loose.

Athos was having the same trouble. He kept his eyes on Aramis, who had the sun beating down on him.

Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of struggling, Athos finally managed to get one thumb under the ropes, and suddenly, his right hand was free. He winced as he pulled his arm back around the tree and started pulling the rope around his body until he was able to stand up. Leaving it tied to his other wrist, he quickly dashed over to Aramis, who was slumped limply, his breathing harsh and shallow.

"Aramis?" he said, rushing behind the tree to untie the ropes. "Aramis?"

There was no reply.

Athos frantically untied the knots; mentally wishing those men would drop dead where they were for doing this to their ailing friend. After he finally got the ropes untied, he hooked his arms under Aramis' and carefully dragged him away from the tree, pulling him into the shade and laying him down on his side, not wanting to cause his back further pain. He knelt beside him and brushed his curls back so he could see into his face.

Aramis' eyes were closed but he appeared to be awake, which was a relief. His skin was very overheated, and Athos wished that he'd managed to get the water before those men had shown up.

Porthos watched, waiting for Athos to untie him. When he finally did, Porthos said to him, "Why are you all wet?"

Athos sighed. "Those men accosted me while I was filling the canteens. During our struggle, I ended up in the water."

"At least you got to cool off, even if by accident," said Porthos, as his ropes came loose. He quickly scrambled up and hurried to Aramis. "Where's the river?" he asked.

"Not far from here," Athos told him, as he finally untied the rope from his left wrist.

"Aramis?" Porthos said. "Up with you, now." He and Athos pulled him to his feet and Porthos pulled one of Aramis' arms over his shoulders.

Aramis' eyes were open, but his breathing was raspy.

"There's still some water left in my canteen," Porthos told Athos.

Athos went over to Aramis' horse and grabbed it, opening it as he brought it over to Aramis and held it to his lips. After he drank it, Athos looped the canteen over his shoulder and led them and the horse towards the river, where Athos' own horse was standing, waiting for its master.

Porthos stopped walking for a second, in shock. "You call _that_ a river? It's barely a trickle!"

"It's _something,_ " Athos answered.

They gently sat Aramis down and Athos went to the edge to fill the canteen before giving it back to him. "Don't drink too much too fast," he said.

Aramis knew that, and nodded slightly before taking it.

Athos found the other two canteens that he'd tried to fill before the thieves had arrived, and he filled them too, tossing one to Porthos. They sat there and drank their fill, each one of them wondering what they were going to do about their situation.

The king's gold was missing...and _they_ were responsible.

TBC


	3. Persuit

The three musketeers were at a loss of what to do. It'd been twenty minutes since Jacques and his men had left, and they didn't know which direction they'd gone in.

"We'll never find them now," Porthos suddenly said.

Athos nodded his agreement.

"Didn't that man have his own horse?" Porthos suddenly asked. "Why'd he take mine?"

"He took…your horse?" Aramis asked, saying his first words since they'd reached the forest.

Porthos looked at him with a sigh. "Yeah."

"Apparently, his broke its leg and he had to shoot it," Athos told him. "They saw us all coming. He would've taken mine, but when he noticed the 'special saddlebag' on yours, he decided that he wanted _that_ one." He shook his head. "He assumed it was food and supplies."

None of them knew what to say; they were all in danger now of not only incurring the king's wrath, but of possibly being accused of stealing the gold themselves. If the weather wasn't so stifling hot, they would've already gone after them, but with Aramis' condition, leaving before cooling themselves off could prove deadly to him.

Aramis was feeling more alert after drinking so much water, but his body was overheated from the stifling heat and his lungs were still handling it badly. He tiredly leaned against Porthos, who gently put an arm around his back.

Athos reached over and started removing Aramis' weapons belts. "We all need to cool off," he said.

"Can't go swimmin' in _that_ ," Porthos answered, sarcastically.

Aramis fumbled to push Athos' hands away. "We need to…go...after the gold." He winced at the pain in his lungs and desperately tried not to cough.

"And possibly cost you your life?" Athos said, grabbing Aramis' wrists to stop him. "No."

Porthos agreed with Athos—which wasn't surprising—and once everything was discarded that they didn't want to get wet, they went right over to the edge and splashed water on their faces.

Aramis gave a sound of relief at the feel of the water. He only wished that the river was wider and deep enough to sit in.

They sat in the shade at the river's edge and continued splashing water on themselves until it cooled Aramis off enough to get his breathing more under control. His lungs still ached and his breathing was still heavy and painful, but he was bound to suffer anyway until the stifling heat and humidity broke.

They drank more water and filled the canteens to the brim before remounting their horses and finding that the men's tracks led back towards Paris.

"How long do you think it'll take them to realize what they really have?" Porthos asked.

"If they ride without stopping, they might not find out until after they arrive," Athos said.

Aramis suddenly coughed, and they were both relieved to see that he didn't pass out.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked. Aramis was riding double with him this time, so as not to tax his own horse too much by carrying him and Porthos for too long.

Aramis quietly nodded.

They rode in silence for a while, going faster but not at full gallop for their horses' sake as well as Aramis'. The sun continued to beat down on them, and they eventually started to once again feel the effects.

During one of their stops to drink their water, Athos couldn't shake his relief that the thieves hadn't stolen their canteens. He purposely drank as little as possible, so there would be extra for Aramis later, as he knew that he would need it the most.

"You're gonna tell the captain that you can't go out in the heat for a while, right, Aramis?" said Porthos, placing the cap back on his own canteen. "If you don't, then _I_ will."

Aramis dizzily nodded. Hardly anything felt worse than struggling to breathe.

"Wise decision," Athos said, as they rode off again.

A couple of hours later, Aramis was nearly back to the state that he'd been in earlier. Athos was getting a little dizzy himself, and Porthos was very uncomfortable. The sky didn't contain a single cloud, so there was no hope whatsoever of rain.

They were making better time, at least, having ridden faster than the leisurely pace they'd taken before losing the gold.

Athos stopped again for a water break. "Aramis," he said, taking his friend's canteen and opening it.

Aramis had stubbornly remained sitting up for as long as he could, but he'd eventually slumped back against his friend. Athos' voice had him slowly pulling away into an upright position, and he sluggishly took the canteen and drank, coughing a little and closing his eyes with a hiss at the painful dizziness that it caused.

Athos held onto his friend from behind, ensuring that he didn't slide off the horse. "Drink," he said, encouraging him to have more.

Aramis obeyed, before abruptly stopping. "We'll run out."

"No we won't, we're making good time," Athos told him.

Aramis was too exhausted to bother figuring out where they were, so he took Athos' word.

The angle of the sun finally started to get lower, but it was now directly in front of them. Athos wished more than once that he could have Aramis sit behind him now, to keep the sun off him, but he was completely limp and not very aware. If they switched positions, Athos was afraid that Aramis might eventually pass out and fall off.

His fears were realized when Aramis suddenly slid to one side, but Athos' arms were already around him to grasp the reins, so he easily caught him and immediately pulled the horse to a stop. "Aramis?" he called, trying to hold him up with one hand and grab one of the canteens with the other.

Seeing his difficulty, Porthos reached over and grabbed Aramis, pulling him off Athos' horse to sit in front of him sidesaddle in a feat of amazing strength.

Aramis' hat fell off his head and landed on the ground. His eyes were closed and he was breathing very shallowly, frightening them both.

Athos opened Aramis' canteen and reached over, pouring water right over their friend's head. "Aramis," he called.

A slight, soft sound made its way past his lips.

Porthos grabbed the canteen and held it against their friend's mouth, pouring a little against his lips to see if he was awake enough to swallow it. Aramis did, but didn't open his eyes or move. His breathing increased again now that he was awake, and it sounded raspy. "We gotta get him home!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos nodded, relieved that the thieves were headed towards Paris anyway.

Porthos kept Aramis with him when they rode off again.

Aramis remained limp, eyes closed as he rested against his friend, more unconscious than awake. He drank when told to, but didn't lift his head or say another word for the rest of the journey.

When they finally entered Paris, their first thought was to drop Aramis off at the garrison...until Porthos suddenly spotted his horse.

"There they are!" he exclaimed.

Athos saw the horse with the saddlebag of gold coins, standing in the middle of the marketplace. Jacques had obviously discovered the gold and was trying to spend it.

"We need to leave Aramis here," Athos told him.

Porthos was reluctant, but knew that he was right. "You!" he called to a few nearby men. "Come here."

The men obeyed.

Athos dismounted and motioned for them to help him get Aramis down. "We are King's Musketeers," Athos told them. "We need you to keep our friend safe. Give him water if he wakes. We'll be back for him soon."

Porthos carefully handed Aramis down. "We're trustin' you," he growled, menacingly. "Don't let us down."

More than one of the men gulped.

Porthos jumped down once he wasn't holding Aramis anymore, and he took him from the men and sat him on the ground in a shaded corner. "We'll be right back, Aramis," he said, squeezing his shoulder.

Aramis didn't react, and with a sigh, Porthos gave the men a canteen and remounted Aramis' horse.

Athos did the same and they rode closer to Porthos' riderless steed. Spotting Jacques, he drew his pistol and shouted, "Stop in the name of the king!"

Everyone in earshot was startled and turned towards him, and Jacques took off running.

Athos and Porthos quickly dismounted and ran after him, not spotting his other two men.

Jacques led them on a chase around stalls and behind buildings, until he accidentally ran down an alley that turned out to be a dead end.

"You are under arrest," Athos said, as he and Porthos pointed their pistols at him. "Lay down your weapons and come with us or I will shoot."

"Lay down yours or _I_ will shoot!" came another voice.

Athos and Porthos turned, and what they saw made their hearts drop into their boots: Aramis was being held in the grips of Jacques' men, who were each holding a pistol on him.

Aramis was awake, but barely, it seemed. His arms were being gripped tightly by the men, and Aramis was swaying on his feet and looked confused, his body so overcome by the stifling heat that he didn't appear to realize exactly what was happening. His labored breathing could be heard down the alley.

Jacques laughed. "You heard him; drop the guns!"

Athos and Porthos obeyed.

Jacques walked past them. "Go get the horses," he told his men.

Any hope that Athos and Porthos had that Jacques would have them release Aramis and leave was shattered when Jacques walked behind Aramis and wrapped his arm around his throat.

Porthos took a step towards them, but Athos grabbed his arm to hold him back.

Aramis reflexively reached up to grasp Jacques' arm in an attempt to pull it away, gasping desperately for air. His lungs were struggling enough already, and his vision clouded over with gray spots and his legs buckled beneath him.

Jacques hefted Aramis up higher and roughly poked his pistol into the side of his head. "We're leaving now," he said. "And we're taking _this_ one with us. If you follow us, he dies."

TBC


	4. Just Fine

Athos and Porthos stared with dismay as Jacques started to back up, pulling Aramis with him, but before they could do anything, a gunshot split the air, and both musketeers thought for a terrifying instant that he had shot Aramis anyway.

"Let him go, _now!"_

Jacques make the mistake of turning his head to see who the newcomer was, and Porthos lunged forward, pulling Aramis out of Jacques' grasp and flinging him towards Athos, who caught Aramis before he could hit the ground.

Porthos ripped the pistol out of Jacques' hand and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. With a growl, he punched him in the face before throwing him down in an unconscious heap. He turned to find Athos kneeling on the ground holding Aramis' upper body on his lap. "Is he all right?" he asked, rushing over.

The answer was definitely 'no'. "Unconscious, but alive," Athos answered.

"What happened to him?" they heard.

Porthos turned for a second before kneeling to lift Aramis into his arms. "Overcome by the heat; his lungs weren't recovered enough to handle it."

Treville sighed. "Not surprising at all," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Get him back to the garrison; I'll handle this."

"How did you know to be here?" Athos asked, as other musketeers came to take Jacques away.

"Monsieur Bonacieux's wife noticed 'a musketeer's horse in the hands of someone else' and was wise enough to alert us," Treville told them.

"And the gold?" Athos asked, as they walked.

"We have it," Treville answered. "Lucky for you." He sighed with relief.

A moment later, they were mounted on their horses and on their way back to the garrison.

Porthos tried to feed Aramis more water, but he didn't wake enough to drink it. His skin was hot and dry, and worst of all, devoid of sweat, indicating the seriousness of his condition.

Once they arrived at the garrison, Athos grabbed everyone he could find to fill a tub with lukewarm water. Porthos failed again to get Aramis to drink, and put him into the tub still clad in his shirt and pants before there was even three inches of water in it.

Athos placed a chair on either side of the tub and they sat down, each one of them holding onto one of Aramis' arms to prevent him from sliding under once it was full. Porthos somehow pulled a cup out of thin air—or so it seemed to Athos—and he kept pouring water over Aramis' head and face. Suddenly, he poured it over his own head, before dunking it into the water and handing it to Athos, who did the same.

Athos exhaled heavily as he handed the cup back. He wouldn't be surprised if half the city of Paris had fallen victim to the incredible heat that day…especially the elderly and the unhealthy. He only wished that Aramis had not been amongst that number.

Porthos continued to pour water over Aramis' head; his forehead was scorching hot, as if he had a terrible fever…which, in a way, he did.

Aramis remained unconscious through it all, and with Porthos constantly pouring the water over him, Athos took the job of trying to get Aramis to drink. It was a half-hour before he succeeded.

Aramis suddenly moved his arms under the water, and Athos and Porthos both gripped him tighter, lest he wake confused and flail around.

"Aramis," Athos said, before Porthos had a chance to speak first. "Be calm."

Aramis moved his head slightly before cracking his eyes open. He blinked a few times before moving again, and that's when he realized that he was in water.

"Be calm!" Athos repeated, when Aramis tensed up and tried to pull away from them.

"What?" Aramis exclaimed, seeming confused. "What _is_ this?" His voice was scratchy from his dry throat, and he coughed.

Porthos ducked his head and looked him in the face. "Aramis, calm down, you're all right. The heat got to you, remember?"

Aramis was still breathing too fast, and he winced, before closing his eyes and giving a shudder. "Too cold!" he exclaimed.

Athos held the canteen to his lips, and was relieved when Aramis obediently drank it. "The water's not as cold as it seems. We're trying to cool you down."

Porthos touched Aramis' forehead and face. "I think he can come out...especially since he's awake to drink now."

Athos let go of Aramis' arm and felt for himself, before nodding.

Aramis paused in drinking, coughing again. "Oooh," he moaned softly.

"Come," said Athos. He took the canteen and set it down, before standing and grasping Aramis under one arm with both hands.

Porthos did the same, and they carefully pulled him upright and sat him on Porthos' chair, not wanting to risk him being too unsteady and falling out of the tub.

Aramis sat there, breathing heavily. He still had a wince on his face.

Porthos kept one hand on his friend's shoulder, and gently lifted the back of his shirt to get a look at the bruising. It still covered most of his back in angry colors. "You should've stayed at the garrison today," he said.

Aramis inwardly agreed, but said nothing. His head was still throbbing: his brain's protest to the excessive heat that his body'd had to deal with.

"Can you walk?" Athos asked.

Aramis didn't answer. He was weak and in pain and he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep.

"Aramis?" said Porthos, squeezing his shoulder.

Aramis tipped a little towards him, and Porthos stepped closer so his friend could lean against him. "I think that's a 'no'," Porthos said to Athos.

Athos sighed, though he wasn't surprised. The air was still stifling and thick with humidity, and Aramis was obviously still having trouble breathing.

"Up you go, Aramis," Porthos said, reaching down to pick him up.

The touch made Aramis come alive again and he finally spoke. "I can walk."

Athos and Porthos exchanged doubtful looks, but they carefully pulled him upright and helped him step out of the tub before sitting him down again so they could get his boots back on. The insides were going to get soaked from his wet pants, but since they were determined to keep Aramis in bed for the next few days, it didn't matter. Besides, they'd probably dry quickly in the summer heat anyway.

Porthos pulled one of Aramis' arms around his shoulders and held onto him tightly as they left the bath house. The garrison yard was empty, which wasn't surprising, and the blazing sun had set, ending the scorching heat of the day. What surprised the musketeers was the light wind that they felt as they slowly headed towards the stairs. With Aramis' clothes being soaked, the wind almost felt cool to him.

The trip up the stairs was stumbly and slow, but they eventually made it to Aramis' room. The air inside was humid and much too warm, and Athos headed over to the window to see if the breeze was coming inside. To his relief, he found that it was, and he pulled Aramis' bed closer to it before they laid him down.

Aramis gave a sigh of relief.

Athos grabbed the basin of water off the dresser and brought it over with a cloth. He wet it and patted it over Aramis' face. "Sleep," he said.

Aramis opened his eyes and gave them a little smile before he did just that.

A half hour later, Captain Treville returned to the garrison and immediately went up to Aramis' room. Opening the door, he found exactly what he expected: Aramis asleep, with his closest friends sitting in chairs beside the bed. He saw that they were both sleeping too, and he quietly closed the door and left, relieved that his three best men had made it out of their latest danger and would be just fine.

THE END


End file.
